Suburbia

The sprawling joy that is contentment seems
In many registers to fall just short.
It's not the desperation past alloy
That toys with them that wander out to court,
Nor the ecstatic and electric charge
That pulses through the lover newly won,
Whose every movement tells the world at large
That he is sure he is the only one.
No, it has passed beyond such commonplaces
Inhabiting the very earth and air
Such integral and unacknowledged spaces
That to some eyes it almost isn't there.
Yet without air or earth, where would we be?
If I lack you, in that place search for me.